Tis the Season
by Kayzo
Summary: Sam and Dean are heading to Bobby's for Christmas-Cas is doing his best to look for God with poor results.


"Wha—_Bobby_, we're three states away!" Dean huffs, phone held close to his face as he talks into it, ignoring the curious looks that Sam and Cas send him.

"Okay, okay, fine." Dean sighs, "Yeah, we'll be there." Dean hangs up, turning to the two, "looks like Christmas is at Bobby's this year."

"Huh," Sam smiles, a small soft thing, "that'll be good, yeah? Finally get to take a time-out."

"We did that last yeah, Sammy," Dean groaned.

"I was worried about your impending death, Dean, the whole thing didn't really scream 'holiday cheer'."

"It was pretty fun," Dean mumbles, more to himself than anything else.

Sam huffs out a laugh, "Yeah, okay Dean. Let's just get driving."

Dean gets himself into the Impala, Sam yanking open his door before turning, "Hey, Cas..." but the parking lot is empty.

* * *

The angel Castiel finds himself in the Himalayas, bitter cold not going past the veneer of human skin. His breath cast small clouds into the air, and though he feels no ill effect from the weather, the exposed skin looks paler still, as if made frail by the ice and snow around it.

He has nothing against the popular belief of Christ's birth date, though it differs from fact. It's a time of joy, of charity and kindness—all things that the false idea of angels would approve of, and though Castiel is a warrior of God, has bathed in the blood of his enemies and been responsible for planning many more, he still finds himself enjoying the _good_ that humans can be responsible for.

This time though, the kindness of all though around him only reminds him of the heaven he can no longer return to. Of his brothers and sisters who would sooner kill him than join with him in communion and prayer. It's not as though he was ever particularly close with any of his siblings, but the absence of it seems more now. More apparent, more gnawing. The time of 'Saint Nicholas' had meant nothing when encased within heaven or in the midst of battle, but as a fugitive on earth, it suddenly holds more weight.

Taking a step forward in the snow, marveling at the new, red tint to his hands, Cas resolves to spend 'the season' as it were, looking for his father. Surly he would not be able to ignore the love his finest creations share for one another during this time. And if the time spent in strangers quarters helps him ignore the absence of his own family (and the realization that what he had in heaven never _was_ a family as he has learned), than so be it.

* * *

"Where'd he go?" Sam ponders aloud, turning away from the empty lot and getting into the car.

"Maybe he's offended by the whole Christmas thing?" Dean shrugs, starting the car and pulling out of the lot, "Christmas doesn't do a good job at showing that real angels don't wander around playing harps and looking like girls."

"Dean," Sam says in that way that contains so much more than just the single syllable of his name.

"What," Dean merges onto the street, "all I'm saying is that the fat guy in a red suit is a bit more important than Christ. Must put a damper on the whole thing for the little nerdy angel."

"Oh yes Dean, that was so very tactful."

"Okay, fine, I'll send him a text, happy?" Dean pulls out his phone, glancing back and forth between his phone and the road.

Moments later the phone buzzes in Dean's palm, and he opens the new message.

"See? He's fine, I'm sure he just didn't want to ride with us all the way to bobby's, you know how he insults my baby." Dean gives his car a fond pat, a gesture that is both reassuring and disbelieving of the angel in one. The text says 'I am in the Himalayas' and has a photo of white, with subtle shaded areas of blue, attached.

Sam gives it a glance, never not amused by Cas' pictures, however vague they are, and knows Dean's got every one saved, regardless of if his big brother will ever admit it.

"Okay." The car falls silence as Dean directs them onto the freeway, twisting into the left lane and speeding forward, until Sam speaks up;

"Bobby's not going to make fruit cake or anything, right?" a hint of horror seeps into his voice, the last Christmas they spent at Bobby's before their father's and his falling out coming in clear—the wilting but sparkly tree, the roast and eggnog, the presents...and the concrete monstrosity that Bobby made himself and had the audacity called fruit cake.

Dean seems to be remembering it quite clearly too, "you should give Bobby a call."

"Wha—why me?" Sam groans, "he likes you better!"

"Don't be ridiculous, you're his favorite." Dean scoffs, "Now give him a call."

"No, Dean!"

"Come on Samantha, grow some balls!"

"Then why don't you?"

"Excuse me—?"

* * *

Castiel could not feel the cold of the mountains, but their silence was like a physical thing. In other times, it would be a welcome respite, now the silence only screams of what is absent—God.

Castiel looks around one last time, human heart feeling heavy in a way it has no right to be, and between one puffed out breath and the next, the angel has moved on, before his cloud of air has dispersed.

The crowded streets of Paris' shopping area is not only filled with people, but bright reds and greens, the white a rest for weary eyes from the onslaught of color. People run around with shopping bags clutched in gloved hands, children laugh and whine, street performers and beggars try to get their daily bread.

It is nothing like the mountains. Bright, loud, so very human. The sea of people part unthinkingly around the angel that they do not even see, and even with it's stark differences, Castiel still feels very much alone.

After Castiel has spent a day walking the streets, found men giving to their co-workers but not to the barefoot, and women hustling children along as they strain to listen to the music of the street performers, Castiel decides that God is not here. Before he lets his wings unfurl once more, a child runs from a cafe, travel bowl of steaming soup in his hands. He brings it unhesitatingly to the disabled beggar on the corner, as who Cas assumes to be the boys mother looks on with a smile.

No, God is not here, not in the way Cas needs, but perhaps humanity is enough for now.

* * *

With about one hundred and seventy miles left, Dean and Sam take a well deserved rest at a place that isn't the inside of the Impala. The call to Bobby had finally been decided through a round of rocks-paper-scissors, one which Dean still says Sam cheated on.

The call had gone down like neither expected; Bobby laughing long and hard, telling the boys in no uncertain terms that he'd known it was crap from the first bite they took, ten and six year olds are not that good at hiding their dislikes, but he still appreciated them powering through it for him. There would be no fruitcake this Christmas, none at all.

Sam was wretched from sleep when Dean shot up like a bolt, a sleepy but concerned 'what?' being sent across the space between their beds through the tilt of his head and sway of his hair.

"He gave me another slice." Dean looks betrayed, "that son of a bitch knew I didn't like it and he forced another slice on me."

"Dean, go to sleep."

Slowly, Dean lays back in bed, but the offended look on his face doesn't leave him, not even in sleep.

* * *

Cas' fifth stopping point, after Australia and Egypt, lands him in a small town in China that's just suffered from a landslide. Castiel wishes more than anything to find his father here, right with the grieving families and hurt individuals. He wants to see his father not leaving his greatest loves destitute and hurt. He wants to know that his brothers, that Urial was wrong, that God still _cares_ that everything matters.

Castiel does not find God in the mess of dirt and tears. He finds a young woman, pelvis shattered from the ground coming down on her with her crying family at her side. He knows her words, words of comfort and assurance, and he knows her pain—that of a slow death.

He is not allowed to, but then, he was not allowed to help the Winchesters to stop the devil, so Castiel uncloaks himself. When the woman asks him if he has come for her, all he can do is shake his head and heal her with a touch of his fingers.

She is well, but many others died, so many others continue to die across the world, and though Cas' human heart clenches at the sight of the now healthy woman being held close by her loving family, he feels it tear at the edges.

Perhaps God truly has forsaken all.

* * *

Reaching Bobby's is a heaven sent. In part because it's the 24th and they're getting in a bit past noon—not too early, but still enough time to relax before the Christmas eve celebrations, but more so for the fact that they'd stopped for tacos about thirty miles earlier and Sam was still attempting to kill Dean through his toxic gas.

"Bobby! Get out the air fresheners, Sam's tryin' to kill me!"

"Yeah, 'cause this is an up-class establishment." Bobby snarks as he comes out, giving each boy a hug.

"Bobby?" Sam and Dean turn as a female voice comes from the house.

Dean shoots Bobby a smirk, "You scoundrel!"

Sheriff Jody Mills sticks her head out from the house, a hand towel in her grasp, "well hey there boys, I hope you're hungry, Bobby's been cooking like he has to feed the un-dead."

"Technically..." Dean says, looking at Sam who rolls his eyes.

"We didn't know you'd be here, Jody, we would have brought you something." Sam says instead, all earnest puppy dog eyes.

"Nonsense, I'm just here to drink the booze anyway." Jody sends them a smile, "What're y'all doing out here anyway? S'not gonna get any warmer."

The three file in after Jody, making there way into the house that looks a hell of a lot more festive than either brother has ever seen.

Dean lets out a low whistle, admiring the Christmas glow.

"Yeah, would you believe he had all this in the attic?" Jody gestures.

"Wow, Bobby, this looks great," Sam marvels, coming into the study where a little Christmas tree sits all aglow.

"It's a bone-a-fied winter wonderland." Dean says, following his brother.

Bobby mumbles something under his breath, moving into the kitchen without looking back.

"Thanks for coming, boys," Jody smiles at Bobby's retreating back, "He won't admit it, but it means a lot."

"Wouldn't miss it for the apocalypse," Dean grins, "Speaking of which, we should give our little angel friend a call, I wanna get him to try the spiked eggnog." he pauses, "there will be spiked eggnog, right?"

"More like jack with a bit of 'nog." Jody answers, eyes bright.

Dean's grin is that of a child's, and Sam can't help but laugh at him. After a moment, Dean brings the phone from his ear.

"He's not answering," Dean clears his throat, "must not be getting good coverage." Dean says, though both brothers know that not to be true.

"I'm sure he's fine, Dean." Sam assures, hoping his words to be more reassuring to Dean than they sound to himself.

"Yeah, yeah...I'll send him a text."

"Strongly worded, I hope," Jody interjects, "I wanna meet this angel friend of yours."

"Oh that's right, you haven't met him yet." Sam smiles, imagining what Jody's reaction might be, "he's great."

"Ain't that the truth," Dean adds, "forget fluffy wings, think more Constantine."

* * *

Castiel's phone buzzes mid flight, and once he lands outside of a tree lighting ceremony in Saint Petersburg, he is enraptured enough to not bother with it. The tree is magnificently tall, huge ornaments and large lights set a twinkle when the onlookers reach the end of their countdown.

The tree is beautiful, the people around cheer and celebrate, trading kisses and hugs and well wishes. A young couple come up to him and wish him well, hands intertwined, and once Castiel recalls why they can see him (the girl, four stops back in China, have others spotted him since then besides the wildlife in the Amazon?), he wishes them the same in their native tongue.

They smile brightly back and Castiel wonders briefly how Sam and Dean are doing on their journey. He knows they were off to join Bobby for their own Christmas time. He hopes they are enjoying themselves, and wishes, briefly, that he could join, but knows it is not his place. He does not wish to make them uncomfortable as they attempt to have a good time with there chosen father figure, as he always seems to do.

The text is a surprise, a short one from Dean demanding his presence. Cas looks around, deciding that God is not here. He glances at his phone again and thinks that he can't return to Dean with nothing to report, not on this night that is supposed to mean so much to humans, supposed to memorialize the birth of Jesus. A few more places, Cas thinks, then he'll go see Dean and Sam, good news or bad.

Five comes quickly, amid watching old Christmas classics and munching on appetizers (every time Dean goes for another pig-in-a-blanket, he can't help chuckling at the very idea), and Cas still hasn't arrived. Sam and Dean are as antsy as they can be without admitting it to one another or themselves.

Jody and Bobby keep giving the boys and each other looks that obviously say they aren't buying it, and the Winchester brothers are ignoring it as best they can.

"Just give him another call," Jody sighs, nudging her foot against Sam's knee from where she's sitting on the couch.

"Don't want dinner to get cold," Bobby adds from the kitchen, gesturing to his many pots and pans on the stove—all of which smelled divine (Dean actually had murmured a 'christo' or two Bobby's way as the cooking went on, this was not how either boy remembered Christmas at Bobby's going, the food had left a lot more to be desired).

"But—" Dean starts, though his hand is already going for his phone.

Jody gives him a stern look and Dean sighs, put out, Sam looking on with his brows furrowed. It's not as if Cas being unreachable for days or weeks at a time is anything new, but the fact that it's _Christmas_. Well, it might not actually mean much in heaven, but both boys had assumed that Cas would spend it with them.

Dean dials.

* * *

Castiel is on a highway in Massachusetts, much like the one he'd waited on what seems like so long ago for Dean to get his 'four hours'. But this one has a crash, a drunk driver, fixated on the taillights of the mini-van in front of it, didn't break and thus...

The drunk driver died on impact, the paramedics said, as did the girl in the back seat. The other girl next to her is still bleeding from her temple, but Cas can tell she will be okay. The father, from the passenger seat, only got whiplash, while the mother has a concussion. The family dog, miraculously, came away unscathed, and is licking the young girl's hand as if to lend any comfort it can.

They'd been heading to their cousin's, where all their family meets every year to ring in the season surrounded by love. Castiel cannot help, at moments like this, to hope that God is gone, that he is not watching idly by. Cas knows that he would be a terrible God for precisely that thought; he could never stand by and watch tragedy after tragedy befall human kind.

A flap of his wings and he's in Siberia. No humans around. No one to be hurt. The cold air seems to dry everything up, even his hope. The ice is hard and unforgiving and Castiel wonders if this is the natural state of the earth.

His phone rings from his pocket and he pulls it out, Dean's name flashing briefly on the screen.

"Dean."

"_Where the hell are you, Cas?"_ Dean's voice always sounds angry over the line, or, more likely, he's always angry when he calls Cas, "_We're trying to do Christmas right this year, you know."_

Cas takes a long blink, gathering his thoughts, "And I wish you luck." The line stays quiet, so Castiel feels compelled to continue, "I have found no leads on God."

"_Cas_," Dean sighs out, and Castiel wonders if he's missed another one of those small social cues. They're always so hard to follow, especially with no visual, "_Get your feathery ass over here."_

"Why?" Cas can't help but ask, surely there's nothing wrong, Bobby's house is, perhaps, the most secure area in the world.

"_We're doing Christmas right, Cas, that means all family accounted for. And you currently aren't. Hurry before Sam goes crazy with hunger_." An indignant '_Dean!_' follows over the line, but Cas barely registers it, the words slowly turning over in his mind.

"Oh."

"_Yeah, Oh."_

"I didn't think I..."

Dean makes an assenting sound, _"__You obviously didn't. Now come on, don't want the food to get cold. 'Sides, I bet you'll love eggnog."_

"Yeah?"

"_Come find out for yourself."_

"Okay."

Another large flap of wings, and Castiel is home.

* * *

This was my bit for a secret santa put on on tumblr by everking, and lo and behold, I got everking as my recipient! she asked for some gen h/c w/a general christmas theme. this is what I came up with, although I really skimped on the h part of h/c (as anyone who has read some of my other stories can attest), regardless, I'm fairly happy with the result. and for those waiting oh-so-patiently for more 'coffee shop' fear not-it's coming! the holiday season and school things are just getting a bit in the way :s


End file.
